"What?"
Bryan's attention snapped to where Wilfred was pointing. Dozens of buses were rolling through the park entrance, heading their way.
When he turned back, Wilfred was already walking toward the reception building.
Bryan watched him go, troubled. Yesterday, the man had seemed tired but functional. Today, he looked like he was falling apart. In any zombie movie Bryan had ever seen, symptoms like this meant only one thing—infection.
A chill ran down his spine. He didn't want to think about it, but the suspicion wouldn't leave him. Taking a deep breath, he followed toward the building, Wilfred's odd behavior replaying in his mind.
By the time he reached the entrance, the buses had parked and the military was announcing departure over the PA. Sarah and the others had already gathered their things and were waiting.
"Bryan, what's on your mind?" Sarah noticed his distracted expression as he approached and ran over to him.
Hearing her voice snapped him back. He looked at her curious face, and his mood lifted despite himself. He reached out and tweaked her nose. "Nothing."
"Hey!" Sarah yelped, swatting his hand away. "What was that for?!"
She rubbed her face dramatically, stuck her tongue out at him, then turned and ran off.
Bryan chuckled. He'd been worried yesterday's events might have affected her, but she seemed to be coping well. Maybe learning to accept loss was its own kind of growth...
His eyes followed Sarah, then drifted to Wilfred, who stood nearby looking exhausted. Anna was fussing over him, concern written all over her face, while Wilfred smiled and nodded along reassuringly.
The thought he'd tried to suppress surfaced again. He resolved to keep a closer eye on the man.
"Attention! All personnel, proceed to your designated areas and board vehicles in an orderly fashion as directed by soldiers. This convoy will proceed directly to the Atlanta Quarantine Zone. May God be with us."
With everything ready, survivors boarded according to protocol. But there were too many people and not enough buses. Every vehicle was packed to capacity—even the aisles were standing room only.
When space finally ran out, the military reorganized and freed up several cargo trucks to carry the overflow.
Bryan's group ended up on one of those trucks—partly because they'd voluntarily surrendered supplies earlier, partly thanks to Tracy pulling strings.
Before leaving, soldiers posted notices in prominent locations throughout the park: the military had departed for the Atlanta QZ; tents were available in the reception building for any survivors who arrived later.
What happened to this place after they left was no longer their concern.
...
The park connected to the interstate via two exits—an entrance ramp and an exit ramp. The entrance was where Bryan's group had left yesterday, now occupied by nearly a hundred Infected. Not an overwhelming number, but enough to cause problems for the convoy.
So they took the exit ramp instead, which had only scattered Infected. The only obstacle was a pile-up of abandoned cars blocking the road. A truck shoved them aside, clearing a path wide enough for the convoy to pass.
Back on the highway, everyone gazed at the silent, empty cities on either side with a strange sense of unreality.
The snow on the road kept their speed cautious—what should have been a twenty-minute drive stretched to nearly double. But safety mattered more than speed.
The highway was just the appetizer. The real danger lay ahead, in the streets of Atlanta proper. That's where this journey would become truly hazardous.
Bryan sat at the back of the truck bed, eyes fixed on the vehicles behind them. But his peripheral vision kept drifting to Wilfred beside him.
Perhaps sensing the attention, Wilfred kept his head down, pretending to rest with his eyes closed. His fists, however, remained clenched tight—as if fighting to control something.
One watched while pretending not to. The other pretended not to notice while being watched. Neither met the other's eyes.
Half an hour passed. The convoy officially entered Atlanta's city limits. Through the windows, they could glimpse Infected wandering the streets below—and in the distance, the high walls of the Quarantine Zone rising from the city's northeast.
Excitement rippled through the buses. Eyes bright with hope fixed on those walls, barely containing their emotions.
But as the convoy descended the off-ramp and entered the city proper, those hopeful expressions shifted dramatically. Anxiety crept back in.
Once off the highway, the convoy couldn't drive in straight lines anymore. The streets were choked with snow-covered vehicles, especially near the highway entrance. Several cars had collided, blocking the intersection entirely. No wonder they hadn't seen a single vehicle on the highway—they'd all gotten stuck here.
The lead truck gunned its engine while soldiers worked together, pushing the wrecked cars aside. Fortunately, the ground was iced over. Once the tires broke free of the frozen surface, the vehicles slid away with minimal resistance.
The scraping and grinding of metal on metal wasn't loud, but it made everyone's hearts race. The last thing they needed was another hospital scenario—Infected pouring out of nowhere in overwhelming numbers.
They managed to clear a passage, allowing the trucks through. But when the buses tried to follow, their wider frames scraped against the cars on either side. The driver slammed the brakes the instant that shrieking metal sound cut through the air.
That noise was far louder than the pushing had been. Every soldier outside tensed, weapons raised.
But no Infected appeared. Eventually, the soldiers worked together to push the cars back a bit further, and the buses squeezed through safely.
With the main road blocked by abandoned vehicles, the convoy had to wind through side streets, sidewalks, and pedestrian paths, crashing through barriers and obstacles without stopping.
Incredibly, they encountered almost no large groups of Infected—just scattered individuals drawn by the noise. Their legs couldn't outpace four wheels, and any that got close were sideswiped or crushed by following vehicles.
Everyone crossed their fingers, praying silently that nothing would happen—that they could reach the QZ just like this.
The convoy cleared the congested area and finally reached a wider avenue. Unlike the vehicle-choked streets behind them, this road was almost empty, dramatically increasing their speed.
"This doesn't make sense. How can there be so few Infected?"
Bryan had stopped watching Wilfred, his attention now fixed on the city around them. Something was deeply wrong. This was supposed to be a city of over a million people. How were they moving through it this easily?
He wasn't the only one wondering. Nearly everyone in the convoy shared his disbelief. But they'd come this far—even if they wanted to turn back, they couldn't. And the QZ was tantalizingly close, just a few miles away. To give up now would be unthinkable.
Besides, the military commander hadn't issued any warnings. If the soldiers weren't worried, the civilians would follow their lead.
As the convoy rounded a corner, every vehicle suddenly stopped, as if responding to an unspoken command.
And everyone's questions were about to be answered.